


my love (returning)

by gabrielgoodman



Series: coda: you've arrived at last, my friend. [2]
Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 11:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielgoodman/pseuds/gabrielgoodman
Summary: When he finds the poem, titled 'Welcome Home' in neat handwriting, it brings him right back to Solomon Islands, into Michael's arms and on the edge of his lips. It shouldn't. He can't help it.They're just two broken people.





	my love (returning)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm steadily working through my writer's block, churning out whatever feels right and after listening to the cast recording on repeat basically all day everyday this happened. I've never seen the show so if anything feels off, that's probably why. Unfortunately I'm way too obsessed with the Donny/Michael/Julia dynamic so you get this. Maybe I relate to Donny a little too much but what the hell, we all have our vices. Unbeta'd and I literally wrote it in one go.
> 
> Now a series because I plan to kill this writer's block by investing myself into this fandom. Maybe I'll write something inspired by Wayne next; I have an idea for something involving Jimmy/Johnny but I'm not making any promises. I love these kids so much, I'm gonna cry.
> 
> Title: Welcome Home, Bandstand

When he finds the poem, titled 'Welcome Home' in neat handwriting, it brings him right back to Solomon Islands, into Michael's arms and on the edge of his lips. It shouldn't. He can't help it. 

He imagines himself in Julia's place, the spouse of a veteran who's never made it back home from his mission. A ring on his finger that's a promise of a hopeful future and reminder of the days and nights they've had, he'd work as a concert pianist in Cleveland and maybe he'd have a mother too, present and not long gone before he arrived back in the States, maybe he'd even bake, like Julia. It's ridiculous to think about it, of himself in the kitchen or waiting for Michael to show up on his doorstep but then again it's a nice little vision, one he's always entertained, kind of. If Donny could, he'd take Michael's place in a heartbeat. He knows that he's only a cheap substitute for Julia but he can't blame her; she already had the best man in the world, they both had him, and everything that will follow is only a ghost of what had and could have been. 

And Donny doesn't know what makes him luckier: That he got the chance to spend any time with Michael at all or that he's not in Julia's place, that he didn't have to open the door and find all that's left of the love of her life is paper and ink.

So he finds that poem and Julia finds him with the poem in his hand and there's a beat of silence, a moment when they look at each other, a mutual understanding, an agreement perhaps, and her lips curl into a sad smile. She understands, of course she does, there's really no one else who could. And if they only have each other to share this particular part of their lives then that's okay, isn't it? Just like her, Donny should let love find him again and not drown his sorrow in gin and fruitless dreams of a Hollywood-like career. He saw it almost slipping out of his fingers when Nick threatened to quit, sees it in the tense line of Jimmy's mouth – much like his own, a past he can relate to – and how it softens whenever he looks at Johnny, whose eyes rarely lose that glint of confusion. And he sees it in the glasses in Davy's hand and the bottles stacking up next to his own bed, the quiet torment Wayne carries around like no one else, the infinite sadness in his eyes and the face of a man Donny used to know and love (then he reminds himself that this is  _Wayne_   and not Michael but Julia got a hang on it regardless) and he thinks of giving up. Almost. 

Donny's always been an all-or-nothing kind of guy so he doesn't, but he's sure that one day this is going to be his downfall. 

"I loved him too, you know," Donny whispers and Julia takes his hand and strokes his cheek and he chokes on an unspilled sob.

"Oh Donny, I know, trust me. We all have the same look in our eyes," She says and there are tears in the corners of her eyes and he can only imagine a fracture of what it means to be loved by Julia, has this unsettling urge to be at the receiving end of said love. She's as beautiful as Michael and then she's as beautiful as only herselfcan be. 

Maybe Donny should've deserved a Gold Star. Maybe that's what this is.

(Then again, he could've never been Michael's spouse and doesn't want to be; it's Julia's role, her part to play and not his, just like Wayne plays the trombone and Donny the piano. Maybe he should stop thinking about this altogether, it will only make him miserable.)

"I can't sleep," he closes his eyes, shakes his head against the memory, "I see him. Whenever I close my eyes, I see him, and I'm so sorry, I should've told you, he should be here and not me, I know, Julia, I'm so sorry." His grip on her soft hand is iron-vice, the grip of someone holding on to dear life and he can't help but let out that choking sob, harsh and loud in the quiet of Julia's home but she doesn't flinch or takes a step away, she only holds on a little stronger, gives Donny a little more. Her other hand is still on his cheek.

"No, Donny, don't say that," she breathes, and her voice is strained, almost painful, on the brink of breaking – she  _is_ a Gold Star after all, she has a reason and Donny doesn't; if it's not spoken out loud, it doesn't exist, does it? - and Donny wants to crawl out of his skin, wants to scratch it off his bones. Why isn't he dead? Why isn't Michael with her instead?

"We need you, Donny, and sometimes things just happen," she's blinking tears away, her lips are quivering but she's so much stronger than Donny ever was, could ever be, and he admires her, loves her (almost), for he is drowning in sleepless nights and tears of his own, booze and regret. So much regret. "And I'm so glad you here, Michael would be too. He wrote about you, you know? I have the - I've kept the letters, all of them. You almost made a poet out of him." And there is it again, that sad smile.

_Of course_   Michael wrote about him. Donny isn't surprised; he was just as lovesick as him and he had so much love to give anyway, for Julia, for him, for this country, for his duty, for the simplest things. Michael saw the best in anyone or else he would've never fallen in love with a frightened kid. He saw the potential beneath Donny's shaking hands and shifting eyes

"I think you're the poet between the three of us," Donny chokes out, an attempted laughter and Julia can't help but laugh too and it's tragic in its very own way. 

They're just two broken people. They're all so broken.

"Donny," she says and looks at him intently, "I'm glad you made it home, yeah? I'm glad you're here. With me. It's what he would've wanted." She doesn't let go of Donny's hand and Donny's heart beats so hard he's afraid it will jump out of his chest. 

He can't remember the last time someone told him  they were glad he was around. Or maybe he can and just doesn't want to. It's all smoke and mirrors these days anyway.

"Welcome home," Julia says and does the simplest thing anyone could think of: she hugs him, and Donny buries his nose in the fabric of her dress; he's always liked to be held. "You hear me? Welcome home, Donny," she repeats and for the first time in a while he can take a breath without the weight on his chest.

They're just trying to survive. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hmu on my tumblr henribrl.


End file.
